


A Second Proposal

by SunnyD_lite



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, post Hells Bells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-01
Updated: 2010-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyD_lite/pseuds/SunnyD_lite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were the sort-of-Scoobies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Second Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> TamingtheMuse Prompt: 84 – Topaz  
> Disclaimer: I'm not Joss. I don't own them. I'm just playing.  
> A/N: It's been a while since Anya spoke to me. Tara tagged along too. Also part of nwhepcat's It's the Writers, Stupid ficathon. Two two two prompts in one.

Tara was the one who whisked her away.

Afterwards she wasn't that surprised. They were the sort-of-Scoobies; there because of who'd they had sex with. Because one of the originals had wanted them.

Not any more.

Her chest hurt. She'd spent the morning looking in mirrors, loving everything about this day. Now she stared out of the hall seeing nothing.

"Where do you want to go?" Tara had whispered.

Wasn't that the question? Her first thought was home, but where was that? The apartment they'd shared? That would be full of his relations?

She wanted safety, security. Somewhere that told her who she was now.

"Magic Box," she managed to mutter.

Tara had blinked, then slowly nodded. "Just a second." Tara slipped away and came back with a dark plastic bag that clinked in a familiar way.

When she glanced at the bag, Tara blushed, then raised her chin a bit defiantly –that was a Willow look – but the stutter undercut her poise. "They'll ch-charge you anyway for open bottles. You n-need them more than the guests."

Alcohol. She knew she'd always liked Tara.

It was still raining. Rain for funerals. Although her people, her original people, had lit fires, pyres for funerals. Sending the soul and his best possessions warmly to the afterlife. Despite the umbrella, rain was getting in her eyes.

She was so cold.

Her chest hurt. Why would her chest hurt? She had worried about her shoes pinching. Whenever Xander wasn't home, she'd practiced walking and dancing in them, breaking them in as if they were a wild horse that needed taming.

Guess she'd tamed the wrong horse. Xander had fled.

The few people on the streets stared. Who wouldn't? A bride and bridesmaid under an umbrella. After facing her guests –her former peers—what did she care what the flotsam and jetsam of Sunnydale thought.

Maybe Tara would curse them, blindness for having the audacity to stare.

She'd done that curse once. For a stripper.

The door was locked. Of course it was. There was even a cheery sign, one she'd made only yesterday. "Closed for wedding. Wired for electrocution. Please come spend your money next week."

Forcing the umbrella to cover them, Tara started to ask, "Key? Oh don't worry about it."

She muttered something and the door popped open. Looking up through her bangs, Tara said, "Just don't tell Willow," then ushered her into the welcoming space.

She shook the umbrella then laid it by the door. Heading to the table, Tara pulled out the bottles, red wine and bourbon. "Sorry, I didn't have time to be choosey." She shrugged and pulled out a couple of glasses. "They won't notice these missing."

"Doesn't matter. The Harris's are paying for the bar. Xander insisted."

"Smart Xander."

As she reached for a glass, the light reflected off her engagement ring. The one with the brown stone.

"Xander said he knew this was the right ring because the stone matched my eyes." She took a gulp. "Reminded him of me."

"I'd wondered," Tara allowed. "But since you were happy, I didn't think it mattered."

"It's a topaz." Another gulp.

"Spiritual rejuvenation and joy." Tara ducked her head again. "Those are its mystic qualities, plus it speeds healing. Not a bad stone for a Scooby."

"But we aren't, are we? It's also a semi-precious. Is that what he thought of me, semi-precious?" An engagement ring was promises made real, but this wasn't what he'd promised. Her hand tipped the glass, draining the last of the liquid.

Tara sat quietly for a bit, then said, "I think you need more to drink for this conversation."

Anya stared as the green sleeve of Tara's dress crossed her range of vision heading for the wine, then a pale hand grabbed the bourbon, refilling the glass. "Do you need ice? For the second one? I could find ice."

She was cold enough already. Had someone turned the air conditioning on? That would cost money. Anya answered Tara's question by capturing the glass in both hands. "Even this stuff is weak compared to what we used to drink." She took a sip, then shuddered. "I just don't understand why."

Had it been Willow, she would have lectured on the history of American alcohol. But Willow was Xander's friend.

Tara settled into the other chair and poured a glass half as full as the one she'd given Anya. "Did he say anything? Or give you any hints?"

"He said it wasn't me he was hating. That he didn't want to hurt me." Even to her, those lines sounded rote. Like her voice was the telephone directory voice. Or the Hal2000 voice.

"But he saved me from the demon. Why would he do that, then" her voice trailed off.

"Then do that?" Tara completed.

She nodded, and took another gulp of the brown liquid, only a few shades darker than her ring.

She'd tried so hard to be human, to lose over a thousand years of demon reactions. She'd read all the bride magazines; she'd done everything right.

"I didn't even fight about wedding colors. Although maybe I was a bit fussy about place settings. But really, it was his family that was harder to sit."

"Oh sweetie, I don't think it was about the wedding. 'Though his family's almost scarier than mine."

She looked up at that. Tara was all earth mother and sunshine—you sometimes forgot the quiet strength and how it was formed.

"It wasn't my usual, but I'd curse your family for you if I could."

Tara started at that, then relaxed back into the chair, "Thank you, I think." She looked around the store. "It's hard, isn't it? They expect you to give up everything and they don't even realize it."

It was as if the mention of 'them' reminded her. "We've been here a while, I should call the others. Oh, did you want them to?"

"No, no!" Tara was an almost comforting presence. She couldn't handle the more active emotions of Xander's friends. Had they ever been hers?

With a quiet smile, Tara went to the phone and spoke in hushed tones.

Tara had almost vanished when she broke up with Willow. Would the same happen to her? Would she still be able to manage the store? If she didn't do this, what would she do?

"They know you're safe. And that you want to be alone." Tara began to sit down then seemed to realize what she'd said. "Oh, did you want me to leave?"

She just shook her head, and poured more bourbon into her glass. What time was it? Did it matter? She looked at an old wind up clock on the shelf. The hands were pointed at the twelve.

It reminded her of an old movie she'd seen. "It's midnight. Look at the clock, one hand has met the other hand, they kiss. Isn't that wonderful? That was supposed to have been us."

"Okay. I think you may have had enough, or at least enough for it to hurt tomorrow." Tara reached for her glass, but she jerked away.

"Of course it will hurt tomorrow. It hurts now. This is my happy day, but now it's not. What am I going to do?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" She only half heard Tara muttered.

The blonde took a deep breath, "First, you survive. You hurt, but you wake up. You eat. You do laundry and cook. You do all the little day to day things that make us human." She got up to pace. "You breathe. Each day hurts. Each day feels like you're bleeding. But bit by bit it hurts less. And Xander isn't dead. There's a chance. .."

"Bit by bit isn't good enough. I want it to stop hurting NOW."

"Pain isn't like that. It's the pain that makes us human. Willow tried to magic through the pain and you remember the trouble that caused."

"But she's just a witch. They never have good control over the dark side."

Tara raised an eyebrow.

"Oh like you dabble in the dark arts. There's a reason Spike calls you Glinda."

Tara smiled and handed her a tissue she must have grabbed by the phone. Why did she need a tissue? She raised a hand to her face and felt wetness. But they'd been inside a while, it couldn't be the rain.

"You're strong. I know you can do this. Is there somewhere I can take you? Can I bring you anything?"

She had a bag packed. It would be in the back of Xander's car. They were going to Vegas for their honeymoon. She'd been planning on winning the cost of the wedding.

It was too late to cancel the reservation, but it was too late to go anywhere now.

"Here, tonight I'll stay here. This is where he proposed. Or tried to. It was when you were bonkers, before we killed Glory. I didn't want him to only offer because he was going to die, when he wouldn't be able to see it through."

She coughed a dry laugh. "I guess it was doomed either way."

"No, don't think that. You're exhausted and well we did just finish two bottles of bourbon. And they were the big bottles."

Tara always saw the good in people. Although she was the only other one who'd seen clearly through Willow. So she could trust Tara. And Tara said she'd be in pain for a long time. That it was the human way.

"I'll be fine." It was a lie. They both knew it. They both let it slide. "I've got some clothes here. I'll be fine."

Tara hesitated, then nodded. "I know you'll be." Future tense. But how far into the future?

Not long after Tara had left, D'Hoffryn dropped by with an offer.

Being human meant being in pain. It meant that she might not have a place here.

But she'd have a place with D'Hoffryn.

She said yes.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N2: The lines " It's midnight. Look at the clock, one hand has met the other hand, they kiss. Isn't that wonderful?" come from the movie Ninotchka  
> Written by Melchior Lengyel (story), Charles Brackett (screenplay) &amp; Billy Wilder (screenplay) and Walter Reisch (screenplay). It was included as part of "It's the Writers, Stupid" ficathon run by nwhepcat.


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